


The Right Name

by KaisaSegher



Series: Counting Scars [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Marriage, Oral Sex, Season/Series 06 Spoilers, Smut, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9435716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaisaSegher/pseuds/KaisaSegher
Summary: Sansa opened her eyes. Jon had already put on his breeches and was washing himself, his back to her. She bit her lip furiously. She wanted him. She wanted him but he did not deserve it, not after how he treated her last night.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we have part 4, because I had to write a little bit more, of course. Hope you enjoy it!

“Shouldn’t she be kicking or something?” he said, his hand splayed across her belly.

Sansa rolled her eyes. How many times did she have to explain it to him? How many times did he need to hear that babies did not move until their fourth moon, at least? And she doubted that even two had passed since she noticed her moon blood was missing.

“It is still too soon, dear,” Sansa told him, trying to keep her calm. “And it is a boy.”

Jon pressed her back to his chest and kissed her shoulder. She smiled, snuggling against him and relishing on the feeling of her husband’s body against hers.

Sometimes she could not believe it, when after a tiresome day like that one had been she could always hide in bed with him, with no one to bother them. She tangled her fingers in his, over her stomach, hoping the child would understand that none of them would go away.

“You believe whatever you like, love. I’ll love it anyway,” he vowed against her ear.

“If it is a girl we can call her Lyanna, if you want.”

Sansa held her breath. She knew that was a delicate matter. Jon never talked about his mother. He never wanted to listen to stories people were always keen to offer him about her. He had never known her, and although she might have been the most wonderful woman in the world, she was never a mother to him, no matter how much she might have wanted to.

His father was a different issue entirely. That was a forbidden subject, for it reminded everyone that it was his aunt that sat on the Iron Throne. And it reminded the people of their wish to have a ruler both from the North and the South, not a girl who grew up in another continent and whose father had been a lunatic.

“I never even knew her, Sansa. Neither of us did.”

“I am aware of that. I just thought that you might like it. She was your mother, after all,” Sansa insisted.

“I do not want my daughter to be named after a girl used as a pawn by everyone around her,” he spat, and Sansa regretted ever opening her mouth to talk about that. “A girl who died because some prince was too bored with his life and decided to obsess himself with a foolish tale of a three headed dragon and songs of ice and fire.”

“It is just a name,” she argued, annoyed by his tone, squeezing the pillow and moving a little away from him as if she was going to sleep. “But if you do not like it I suppose we can think of something else.”

“You are right, it is just a name,” Jon conceded, his voice a little sweeter as he gently run his hand through her waist. “But then people will be too eager to tell her everything about her grandmother’s tragic story, and I don’t want that for her.”

Sansa did not answer, still somewhat crossed. She had tried to please him and he had caused an argument around something supposed to make him happy. If it was only up to her, the girl would be called like her lady mother and that would be it. However, she was sensible enough to know how much Lady Catelyn had mistreat Jon everyday they had shared a roof and how much that had hurt him. But now that she had tried to compromise he had jumped at her.

“If it is a boy we should name him Eddard. I would like that,” Jon tried to appease her.

Sansa rolled on her back, facing him. Her brow was knitted and her lips pursed, ready to take revenge.

“Everybody expects us to call him that,” she growled. “And I am tired, we should sleep.”

With that, she blew out the lamp on her bedside table and turned his back to him again.

* * *

She felt something warm and furry against her arm, stretched out on the blankets. The morning light hit her eyelids, urging her to wake up. Sansa had matters to attend to. She needed to order another shipment of sand from Dorne for the new glass gardens. The last one had gone to waste after they had messed up the mixture, making the glass too brittle to endure the long winter.

Sansa opened her eyes. Jon had already put on his breeches and was washing himself, his back to her. She bit her lip furiously. She wanted him. She wanted him but he did not deserve it, not after how he treated her last night.

So Sansa decided to focus on the beast on her bed.

“Good morning,” she greeted, talking more to the direwolf, as she scratched behind its ears, than to her husband.

“Good morning,” Jon answered, though, turning around to face her. “She was too eager to greet you, so I let her in. Although Ghost is nowhere to be found.”

“Of course you were!” she cried, surrounding the wolf with her arms, although barely. “You are such a good girl, aren’t you, Lemon?”

The wolf lifted her head proudly, wagging her tail. Jon laughed.

“That must be the silliest name for a direwolf!”

“Well, yours is white and you called him Ghost, how inventive of you,” she scoffed. “Now she has yellow eyes, and that makes her Lemon. And may I remind you that Rickon called his Shaggydog?”

Silence. If Sansa could take her words back she would have done it without blinking an eye. How could she forget that was a forbidden subject too?

Jon never told her how exactly Rickon had died, but she knew he felt guilty for it. She had tried to tell him, over and over, that it had been Ramsay’s doing, just like a great deal of other things Jon did not held Sansa responsible for. So why be so hard with himself?

And why was it so difficult to talk to him lately? It had all been so easy when they had to juggle in order to see each other. Now that they had all the freedom in the world to be together why was it so hard?

She got up and decided to leave that problem for later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry if they suffer a bit, it just happened, but perhaps we can still fix it


	2. Chapter 2

Nobody told Sansa that even though her problem with the queen was mostly solved after she had married Jon, it did not mean they would be happy all the time. Furthermore, in the last few days she had come to realize that there were a great many things that made Jon angry or worst, hide in his own world and shut her out.

Before, when everything was a secret, they only spoke about Winterfell’s management, how much they were in love with each other or about what each one of them had done to elude the prying eyes.

After some time they had started to trust each other with other matters. One night Sansa had woken up screaming and sweating because of a nightmare about Ramsay. Jon had held her in his arms, whispering soothing words in her ear. Then she had spent all night telling him, without much detail, many of the things Ramsay had done to her. She had tried to hide those memories inside her mind, tried to pretend it did not happened, that it had been just a bad dream. But those things were still there, and sometimes they still escaped their cages at night. If Jon was to spend the rest of his life with a woman that once in a while woke up crying like a lunatic at least he deserved to know why.

No masks. There were no masks between them, there had not been for quite some time. Even before they had become lovers, even when Sansa was still not aware she saw him as a man, they never wore their masks around each other.

So after she had opened her heart to him she had expected he would do the same to her. But he never did. He never spoke about being on the other side, or being brought back, except for a few quick words. He never talked about Rickon’s death, so she rarely had the chance to tell him it had not been his fault. He never spoke about finding out who his mother was, a question that had obsessed him as a boy. Not even about discovering that Lord Eddard was not his true father. Actually, for Jon, his father was still Ned Stark, no matter what people told him, except as far Sansa was concerned. Only then did he decide to be Rhaegar’s son.

Sansa knew those things, although not as perverse as what had been done to her, were twisted enough to affect a man’s sanity. But even though she had offered him a chance to talk about it, he always frowned, gave a rushed answer with an annoyed tone and changed the subject.

She was starting to get sick of it. She was having his child, and now there was no turning back.

And she loved him, dearly, and he had good days that made her love him even more. But then there were days like this that made her hate him a little, and she had to remind herself of his kindness, his gentleness.

“What will we do to him, uh?” she asked Lemon, throttling proudly at her side.

Poor thing. She had appeared at the gates the day of her wedding, gaunt and famished, and she resembled Lady so much that Sansa’s heart almost broke. Sansa had taken her in, and gave her a nice boar leg from the very wedding feast, relishing in the wolf delight as she ate. Jon had suggested Lemon might have been Arya’s wolf, lost the same day Lady was killed, but upon closer inspection they realised she was smaller and so perhaps a little younger than Ghost, the smallest of his litter.

Ghost was another matter entirely. He did not like his new companion one bit. Whenever Lemon approached him he snarled and scared her away, running with her tail between her legs. Well, they would get used to each other, eventually. In the meantime, Sansa tried to keep them apart so as not to get her wolf hurt.

It was nice having a direwolf by her side again. She had missed Lady every day, even more after she had to see Ghost all the time, and how the animal was devoted to Jon. And Lemon reminded her of Lady so much…

She entered the study, dreading the task to come. Desmond was already there, and so was Tomard Cassel and Wyl, the blacksmith, all waiting for her. Sansa had expected Jon to be there as well, and she felt disappointed when she found out he was not. Although she was cross with him, Sansa still missed him if they were apart for too long.

Desmond was the first to speak as soon as they all took their sits around the table. The glass was not good enough, and if they made it any thicker, according to Wyl the steel structure would not hold it in place without bending or breaking.

Lemon laid her head on Sansa’s lap, asking for attention. The wolf was so loyal to her, in such a short period of time. But perhaps it was because she had given Lemon food, after all. Ghost needed to stop being so mean to the poor thing, though. She might not be one of his sisters, but surely Lemon did not deserve that treatment.

As Sansa did not deserve those harsh words and long silences from Jon. Not after everything she had faced for him.

What did Tomard say again?

“I am sorry, I did not understand,” she said, resting her chin on her hand, trying to seem interested.

“I am afraid we can’t afford a new shipment and the coal required to melt it, m’lady,” Tomard repeated.

It was as if someone had spilled a bucket of cold water over her head.

Sansa gulped, almost escaping everyone else’s perception, and straightened her back. She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell. She could deal with it.

“I will write to Princess Arianne myself, see what we can do about that. She is not a heartless woman, for what I have heard,” Sansa offered.

“With all due respect, m’lady, I doubt the winter makes anyone prone to charity,” Desmond scoffed.

She did not wish to deal with them at the moment. Sansa had too much in her mind already, and perhaps too much in her stomach, for she was starting to feel sick again. Now she wished she had not broken her fast.

“No, you are right. It does not make me altruistic either. If our men must die to protect the kingdom from the White Walkers if they ever cross the Wall, then the kingdom must provide for us. And winter is coming,” she declared, her voice firm.

“And why not speak with the queen, then? She is your lord husband’s aunt, after all,” Wyl suggested, crossing his arms, thick as an old oak trunk.

Speaking with the queen… That should be an option. But asking for help so soon after saying that no one would do a better job ruling the North than her with Jon by her side was practically the same as declaring their failure.

No, Arianne was a much better choice. She distrusted the new queen just as much as Sansa, for they both had the same problem: subjects so proud that they would rather have their ladies as queens than living under King’s Landing law. Asking queen Daenerys for aid was the same as proving their ineptitude to their people. Sansa could not ask for it now and Arianne Martell could not count on it if the Others crossed the Wall the same way she could count on Winterfell to block their advance.

“I will speak to Arianne Martell. In the meantime do whatever you can to solve this, for I assure you I will do just as much.”

Sansa stormed out of the room, trying to hold the food in her stomach at least until she found a bucket, a vase, anything, really.

By all the gods, for how long would it last yet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I'm making anyone suffer. Hope the following chapters will make it up, though.


	3. Chapter 3

She tested the water with her hand, drawing small spirals with her fingers. It was not too hot, just warm enough to ease some of the pain on her tensed muscles. The day had not been easy. Not at all. It was never easy when Sansa was angry with Jon.

Well, no one was happy all the time, were they?

So after Tomard, Desmond and Wyl had come to her with nothing but complications and stones to her shoes when she felt sicker than ever, Sansa had decided to hide in her room. Jon and hers, to be fair. Although, shortly after, when Alys had emerged from the door to check if everything was alright, and Lemon had taken the opportunity to storm in and jump in bed with her, she had dismissed them both. Sansa wanted to be alone, to have some time with nothing but her own mind to keep her company, but she was not sure which one, the girl or the direwolf, looked more heartbroken.

And she was not truly alone. Not since she had the little one.

Sansa left her towel by the fire and unlaced her robe, dropping it on the stool nearby. A bath. All she needed was a long bath and forget that day. Then perhaps when she saw her husband again, whom she had avoided successfully all day, she did not feel so bitter.

With her hair gathered at the top of her head with a ribbon, Sansa let her body drop peacefully into the water. She propped her feet on the copper edge and leaned back her head, trying to empty it as much as she could.

At least now her stomach had stilled itself and she had even been able to eat a chunk of bread with some butter. At least she had that.

Her eyelids started to feel heavy as her muscles began to loosen up. Maybe she would take a small nap and then try to go down for supper. She still owed the men an apology for her despotic behaviour, after all.

She heard someone storm through the door, behind her, and repressed the urge to snarl.

“You are here!” Jon almost shouted, his boots thumping on the floor as he approached her.

Good, he was not blind.

“Desmond told me you had run away from them, this morning, and then Jocelyn said you had been sleeping all day. Is everything alright?” he asked, giving her a quick kiss on her brow.

He sat down on the bed and started to take off his boots.

“No, nothing is alright. As usual,” she spat, her eyes more interested in the circles her hand was drawing on the surface of the water than in Jon’s face.

“What happened? Are you alright?” he asked again, frowning.

“No, I already told you,” she answered him, her voice full of all the annoyance she had carried since last night.

Jon froze.

“Why are you being so harsh? I am just worried about you, there is no need to be like that,” he reprimanded, a puzzled look on his face.

Oh, the nerve of him. The nerve of him!

“Why am I being so harsh, Jon?” she shouted. “Why am I, I being so harsh? I am the one being harsh here.”

“Can I at least know for which crime am I being condemned?” he demanded, throwing his boots across the room.

“Oh, you don’t know? Of course, you are as blind as a bat!” Sansa yelled, twisting herself so she could face him, and grabbing the edge of the tub with her fingers until her knuckles turned white.

“If you are going to say that I know nothing, I’m a little tired of that expression,” he mocked.

Sansa grunted. She just wanted to be alone. Not to argue with him again. Could he just leave already?

“Well, that is true! But since you are so daft I’m going to explain it to you anyway!”

“Now you are crossing the line, Sansa!” Jon yelled back.

She gulped, but decided to continue anyway. It was too late already.

“Why can’t you talk to me? Why you never tell me about what troubles you? I told you things about me- terrible things, hideous things- because I thought you deserved to know why I avoid certain parts of the castle or why some nights I wake up crying like small terrified child,” she explained, almost spitting out the words from her mouth. “But every time I offer you a chance to extend the same curtsy you just snap at me.”

He looked at her, his mouth open and his eyes lost. But he did not say a word, and she took that as a sign to keep going.

“I love you Jon. I love you so much that it hurts me more than anything in the word when we are angry at each other,” she said, her voice breaking as tears threatened to fall from her eyes. “But the least you could do is tell me why we cannot talk about your mother, or Rickon.”

“There are many things you don’t talk about and I don’t question your reasons,” Jon said, starting to unlace his doublet, as if he had gotten tired of listening after all.

It was Sansa’s turn to freeze. He was right.

“And if I don’t like to speak about some things that is just the way I am, and I am afraid it is too late to change that,” he added, taking his doublet off and leaving it in bed, beside him.

“I do not want to change you,” she whispered, unable to speak anymore. “But could you at least try not to be so harsh? Sometimes it just feels like you don’t trust me.”

Jon got up and circled the tub, so he was behind her. His hands gripped her shoulders and he kissed her neck, his beard gently scratching her. Sansa felt her skin burn, like it had been set on fire, and she discovered that it was really difficult to stay mad at him after that.

“I trust you. You know so much more about me than anyone on this world,” he said, kissing her jaw. “And I don’t like it either, when we are angry at each other. So I am sorry, for being such a brute.”

Sansa grabbed him by the neck and kissed him. Jon grunted, surprised, but he responded as eagerly as ever, opening his mouth when her tongue gently asked him to.

It was so much easier, when he was loving and caring. When he smiled.

He really should smile more often, for when he did it made him look gentle and younger and carefree. Just like that part of Jon she was certain was saved only for her.

But yet again perhaps life had not given him many reasons to smile more often.

“I am sorry,” Sansa apologized, resting her forehead against his. “I am sorry if I made you think that I wanted you to change the way you are. And I am sorry for punishing you all day.”

“I think I deserved it a little bit,” he said, with a half-smile on his face. It was not his brightest one but for now it was good enough. “Now what happened to you? Are you alright?”

Sansa rested her back against the surface of the tub again, letting her breath still before she told him about the meeting that morning.

“I am just tired, that’s all,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “Those three will make me go mad eventually. But I am fine now.”

Jon’s hands caressed her shoulders as he gently tried to undo the knots in her muscles. She had been tense ever since she had gone to bed last night, and his fingers felt like heaven. Sansa hummed softly, delighted as he tenderly pressed her flesh, turning it to jelly and reminding her of how lucky she was. She felt his lips following the path of his hands, pressing light kisses behind her ear, to her jaw, on the curve of her neck.

Sansa’s blood started to boil in her veins, as if shouting that it had been too long since Jon had touched her like this.

“Jon?” she called, in a low voice.

He grunted against her neck in response, making her shudder.

“I have missed you.”

Jon did not make a sound this time. One of hands slid slowly through her chest, through her belly, under the water. Sansa caught his writs and led him further down.

“I have missed you too, Sansa,” Jon said, biting her shoulder as his fingers found that sweet spot between her legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I couldn't endure the suffering anymore... I'm weak, I know.  
> As usual, if you find any mistake just tell me.


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa let her head fall back until it hit Jon’s shoulder. A loud moan escaped her lips, and she thanked every god that they were now married and she could make all the noise she wanted. What could they accuse her off? Screaming as a lowborn woman when her husband’s fingers did such wonderful things to her? Well, she could endure the gossip if that meant she got what she wanted. And right now she wanted Jon.

She hooked her arm behind his head, so she could get some leverage as she bucked against his fingers, desperate to find her release. It had been too long, almost an entire week, and that was unacceptable.

Sansa scraped the nape of his neck, making him groan against her shoulder. His hot breath on her skin made her tremble, but when his free hand cupped her breast she thought she was truly lost.

Will she ever get tired of this? Tired of him? How could it be that after feeling so hurt just some words and a couple loving gestures had set everything right again?

He twisted her nipple between his fingers, and Sansa pressed her chest against his hand, leaning forward again. She knew she was close. Just a few more strokes on the right spot… Perhaps it was because the water was getting in the way, but Jon was not helping as much as he usually did. She took his hand in hers and relocated it to her nub, guiding it to the right rhythm.

“Sansa,” he murmured, biting her earlobe. “Do you touch yourself?”

Sansa stopped, as if a bolt had hit her and paralyzed her. She was sure she was blushing.

“What?” she whimpered.

“Do you touch yourself? When I’m not with you, I mean,” Jon tried again, rubbing her nub until her vision clouded and her head felt dizzy.

“Sometimes,” Sansa whispered, too afraid to say it any louder. Now if her head was not occupied with other matters she would feel mortified.

“And what do you think about when you touch yourself?”

Oh gods, she was so close and he was distracting her. She could not make conversation and peak at the same time. She tried to focus on the frantic circles he was drawing on her, driving her mad, making her burn from the inside out-

“Sansa,” Jon called again. “Can you tell me, please?”

She sighed, her eyes firmly shut. She could never say the words if she did not pretend it was only a dream.

“I think about you. I think about your mouth kissing my thighs. I think about your hands in my breast, just like that,” she told him, surprised with her boldness. “I think about the face you make when you peak, how you screw your eyes shut while you leave your mouth wide open, how the muscles of your neck tense and you throw your head back.”

“Seven hells, love!” he groaned, his hand leaving her breast and climbing up to her face, turning it to him. “I think my breeches are too tight now.”

He kissed like the world was about to end, like this was all they had. And then another stroke of his fingers finally did it and Sansa was shuddering in his arms, her arm sore from grabbing his neck in such an awkward fashion, her thighs convulsing and squeezing his hand at the same time.

Sansa let herself rest against Jon’s chest as her breath stilled itself. She gently caressed the soft hairs at the back of his neck, trying to thank him as best as she could feeling as numb as she was.

“Are you still mad at me?” Jon asked, his knuckles stroking her ribs, soothing her.

“Can a woman be mad at a man that does to her the things you do to me?” she returned, still panting.

“No, you’re right. As usual, Lady Stark.”

She let go of him and tried to get up, her legs still trembling. Oh, gods, she hoped not make a mess, with the tub so full and herself so clumsy still. Jon stood up, holding one of her hands and passing his other arm through her waist, helping her get out. He grabbed the towel by the fire and wrapped her in it, his arms around her and his chin on her shoulder.

She felt so safe. Like nothing bad could ever happen to her. To them, when she was in Jon’s arms. Sansa closed her eyes and smiled, pressing her body against his.

“I think that your breeches might be too tight indeed, Lord Snow,” she joked as she felt his erection poke her back.

“It is your fault, saying all those indecent things,” he complained as he started to scrub her dry.

“I am sure you have your own indecencies to confess, dear,” Sansa retorted, spinning around and facing him. She let the towel fall to her feet and her hands slide up his chest.

Jon gripped her buttocks and pushed her against him. She yelped in surprise and her giggles filled the room. Gods, it was so much better when they were playful and carefree than when they walked on eggshells around each other!

“I do, I surely do,” Jon said, his eyes staring at the ceiling and then lowering to her face. “But you are a lady, it is not very ladylike of you to behave like that.”

Sansa grinded her hips against his now very obvious erection, trying to prove that no matter how unladylike she was it had drove him positively mad with desire. Jon groaned, agreeing with her.

“And you are my husband, so that makes you a lord. A lord does not wank himself when his lady is not there to warm his bed,” she teased, her lips an inch of his, her fingers tangling in his thick hair.

“In my defence most of it was after you kissed me the first time, so technically it was partly your fault,” he said, with a half-smile and eyes so wide Sansa could not tell which colour they were after all. “Well, some of it before, too.”

Sansa slapped his arm, faking outrageousness. If anything, the thought of it made her body boil to her bones.

“What? It’s not like anyone would let me have my way with you!” he whined, shrugging.

“I did, didn’t I?” Sansa asked him, standing on her tiptoes until she was almost aligned with him, but without touching him just yet.

He finally got tired of waiting and lowered his head until he met her lips. Sansa could get bored of many things about him. His frown, his angry voice, his silences. But never, ever, no matter how many winters or summers still awaited her, would she get tired of that marvellous, sweet mouth of him.

As they kissed, Jon gripped her legs and wrapped them around his waist, his strong hands holding her in place. She held his neck, terrified of falling to the ground. But when his tongue caressed her lower lip and slid inside her mouth Sansa forgot everything.

She realised she could not reach nearly enough of him, hanging from his neck and waist, her muscles fighting with all their might to keep her there. She was pleased when Jon lowered her to the bed and stepped back, taking off his tunic first, then his breeches. Sansa’s mouth watered in anticipation as the sun casted shadows on his muscles, his pale skin almost golden now. She ached to run her tongue through every bit of his skin, to touch every inch of his flesh. He was too beautiful to waste away at the Wall as he had intended to. The place of a man like that was on someone’s bed, preferably hers, and if she was still allowed to choose, she would rather have him between her thighs than anywhere else.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself, Jon?”

The question slipped from her lips before she was able to stop herself, and she felt her face burn. But a moment later Jon’s mouth was at her throat again, gently sucking her pulse and making her loose her mind once more. He would drive her mad. He would drive her so mad that one day she would not be able to speak again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm happy again so they're happy again. That's mostly it.  
> Also sorrynotsorry for the minor cliffhanger, soon to be "solved" (it's quite obvious, actually).  
> And I'm sorry for profaning your chaste eyes


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hmm... This chapter has no plot whatsoever, so you know what happens. By the way, in 24h I have a plain to catch and I'll be away from the internet for 10 days, and I am so sorry for not updating before that. Perhaps tomorrow I can write something, but at least here you have something to sooth the pain.  
> Any mistake just tell me. And thank you, everyone, for your kind words!

“When you said you wanted us to be completely honest with each other I never guessed this was what you had in mind,” Jon said, nuzzling her neck with his nose. “I thought you meant more serious matters, and not what I do in my spare time.”

Sansa dragged her fingers along his back, tracing the edge of every muscle and every bone, revelling at the sensation of her breasts pressed against his strong body, like she was encased by the most robust wall in the world and nothing bad would happen to her as long as she was with him. Jon sighed, like a tired man finally finding a place to rest after a long journey. But even though their fight had warned both of them out Sansa was acutely aware of Jon’s shaft stiff against her leg, reminding her that although she had been satisfied he still awaited.

She decided to correct the situation, to set the records straight. He had already redeemed himself for misbehaving the previous night, so perhaps it was not a bad idea to reward him for being humble enough to apologize.

“I want to know everything,” she demanded, pressing her palms against his chest, coaxing him to roll to the side.

Sansa felt mortified, although she was too curious to take a step back now. And she had told him all about what she did when she missed him, it was only fair he did the same.

She tried to distract herself from what she had just said, although something hot was pooling between her legs as she pictured him pumping himself with his fist, her name slipping from his lips as he found his release.

“I am a simple man,” Jon obliged, as she leaned over him and started to plant featherlike kisses along his clavicle. “Most times I just think about your breasts.”

“What of them?” she whispered, gently biting his skin. He tasted almost too good, something not even the best lemoncake she had ever had could defy.

“I don’t know, really. Sometimes they’re just there,” he tried to explain, his voice a pitch higher than usual. His fingers pulled the ribbon at her hair and he watched as it fell down her shoulders, tickling his chest. He gently pushed it to one side, disentangling her tresses. “Sometimes your dress is a little too low and just seeing them above you neckline is enough. And if you are too busy speaking with other man about glass gardens and other lords and ladies visits to Winterfell, like you have been lately, I have to take care of it myself.”

“I am never too busy for you, dear,” she purred, caressing his beard and planting a little kiss on his lips. “So there’s nothing special about my breasts then.”

“Nothing special?” he yelped, almost sitting up. She pushed him down with the palms of her hands on his chest, forcing him to lay down again. Jon frowned. “They’re just… Just so… They’re perfect. Seeing their curve on your dress reminds me of every time I had them in my hands and how you gasp and press your chest against my palm.”

Sansa caught his hand and brought it to her ribs, just under her heart.

“Like this?” she suggested as he cupped her breast, rolling his thumb over her nipple.

“Just like this.”

She shivered to Jon’s touch, her flesh hot once more, her body burning like it had been set on fire by him.

It was always his fault.

“Nothing more?” Sansa asked again, her breath shallower than before, her hands supporting her weight so she hovered over Jon’s body. She had already declared him the best mouth in the Kingdom a thousand times but she had to admit that his fingers were just as apt.

“I like how your hair brushes on my skin when you kiss down my chest and my stomach,” Jon said, squeezing her breast in his hand, making her moan echo on the stone walls.

“Because what I do after that feels good?” Sansa tried.

Jon nodded. Sansa smirked, feeling too proud of herself. And he knew that always did the trick, when he told her how much he enjoyed what she did to him, no matter how awkward or inexperienced she might feel. Although lately not so much, since they had many opportunities to practice and learn how to drive each other mad with want.

However, when she attempted to put her mouth to his breastbone she found out that his hand on her chest was getting in the way.

“I’m afraid we’ll leave that for later, dear,” she said, a sad look on her face as she pushed his hand away. It settled for another place soon enough, though, as he run his fingers through her spine, stopping at the curve of her hip.

Sansa lowered her head until her lips met his skin, gently brushing on the hollow of his neck, sliding down ever so slowly until his bellybutton, her hair dragging after her through his torso. His chest heaved, his breath faster now. His hand was unable to reach her hip anymore, so he cupped her neck instead. Sansa chuckled, knowing she had him exactly where she wanted.

“Like this?” she asked again, stopping at his hipbone and pretending to ignore his erection against her shoulder.

Jon gulped.

“Gods, you’re terrible at this, aren’t you, Jon?” she scolded, lifting herself and sitting beside him. Was it so bad that she wanted him to suffer a little bit? She had told him everything, it was not fair that Jon made her work so hard for a proper answer.

He sat up almost just as quickly on the edge of the bed, pushing her back against him and kissing her shoulder hastily.

“I’m sorry, love. I really am,” he apologised between kisses. “Please.”

Sansa stood up, crossing her arms at her chest.

“Then tell me. Just tell me at once,” she demanded.

Sansa knelt before him, her slender fingers firmly gripping his thighs. She raised her head, meeting his dark grey eyes, shining with anticipation. She took in his straight nose, his full lips, his strong jaw… Sometimes she asked herself what she had done so right that she deserved a man like him. And to think he had made a vow a few years ago. What a waste that would have been!

“Just tell me, I promise I won’t laugh,” she assured him, her lips meeting his chest once again as one of her hands closed around his cock.

Jon hissed, throwing his head back.

She did not move, waiting for his answer.

“I think about that too,” he whispered through his teeth. “Your small hand around me.”

She pumped her fist up and he groaned again.

“Like this?”

“Yes… Just like that…” Jon sighed, his hands clasping the blanket below him.

Sansa smirked, continuing her task as her lips repeated their previous trail down his torso. She would need him again, though. Just pleasuring him would not do.

“And then your warm mouth… And your soft lips… And how everything goes dark,” he added, almost unable to speak.

Sansa obliged, gently wrapping her lips around the head of his cock, her hand holding what could not fit in her mouth. She heard Jon curse loudly as he bucked his hips against her. He was close, too close, and she needed him inside her yet.

Sansa let go of him, earning herself a desperate whimper and a puzzled look.

“Can I have you inside of me before you peak?” she asked, pouting a little as she raised herself and sat on his lap.

To her contentment, Jon nodded enthusiastically, grabbing his shaft and guiding it to her entrance.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I felt terribly guilty about leaving it like that and decided to wake up a little earlier to day to write this. Hope you enjoy!

He slid inside her almost too easily, and Sansa shivered in his arms, overwhelmed with the feeling of him stretching her on the inside. Jon sucked at her lip, his moan resonating on her whole body and mixing with her own.

Sansa grabbed his shoulders for leverage, supporting her weight on her knees as Jon started to thrust upwards and she tried to make her hips keep up with him. His fingers dug into her rib-cage, just below her breasts, and she was sure there would be a bruise with the shape of his hand there tomorrow.

But she did not care. Nothing mattered when she was in Jon’s arms and he was inside of her, making the most delicious sounds with his mouth.

One of his hands rose from her chest to gently brush away the hair out of her face, the tenderness of the gesture contrasting strikingly with the sharp motion of his hips. He run his thumb through her lips, parting them before kissing her, his tongue slyly gliding in and stroking hers. She groaned into his mouth, a familiar tingling forming at the back of her head as her lungs burned in need for air. But that did not matter either, as long as she had him.

Jon angled her back so he could reach her neck with his mouth, the new position making his cock rub a sweet spot inside of her. She was close, but Sansa knew Jon was closer than her and it would end way too soon.

Although, she could not focus on that thought, for Jon’s mouth gently wrapped around her hard nipple, sucking and scrapping his teeth on it. She snapped her back at him, unable to control her own body. Jon hummed in appreciation against her breast, increasing the rhythm of his hips. Sansa yanked at his curls, biting her lip as his hot tongue circled around her nipple, unable to even recall a sound to utter.

“I also think of you like this, love,” Jon said, almost breathless, as he started a path of kisses from her breast to her neck, stroking her face with the back of his hand. “Completely undone, totally unladylike, around me, making the most shameful sounds with that sweet mouth of yours.”

He kissed her again, the hand on her face sliding down her neck, then her arm, until it reached her fist.

“But I still want you to show me, Sansa,” he asked, bringing her fingers to her folds and looking at the point where both their bodies met. “Please.”

Sansa blushed furiously, screwing her eyes shut, unable to look at him. Jon massaged her thighs with his large hands, trying to reassure her but failing miserably.

Sansa breathed in, attempting to gain courage. Why did she feel embarrassed by the silliest things, after they had done so many delicious things to each other in the most inappropriate places?

But that was different. That was private, something she did to herself, never wanting him to find out for that meant she needed him so much more than she could have him. But knowing that he felt the same, perhaps for longer than she did, somehow gave her the audacity she needed.

“Please, Sansa,” Jon begged again.

She rubbed her nub, at first tentatively, but the thought of him begging made her lose all shame. As she run her finger through it, faster and faster until her hand got numb, she decided to open her eyes and look at him. His mouth was as wide open as his glossy eyes, staring down in awe. When Sansa let her jaw drop and moaned uncontrollably, he lost the coordination of his hips and threw his head back. He was close, too close, but she had to make it first.

Seeing him like that, helpless, unrestrained, just the way she liked to think of him when she touched herself, made something break inside of her. Her body trembled violently as her release hit her almost unexpected, waves of pleasure rippling through her flesh, her high pitched cry surely resounding through the whole castle and causing the envy of most. But such pleasure was for her and only for her, and no one could take that away from her greedy hands.

With a swift motion, Jon leaned against her until her back hit the mattress, her head hanging from the edge of the bed as her body still enjoyed the last rips of pleasure. He slammed inside her harder and faster, although without any coordination whatsoever. Sansa dug her nails on his back, trying to hold on to something, too afraid to fall and still unable to catch herself. In a heartbeat Jon found his own release, sinking his teeth on the tender skin of her shoulder and groaning louder than ever before as he spilled his seed deep inside her.

Perhaps all the ages of the world passed, and the winter was gone until nothing but sunshine and happiness existed on earth. Or maybe it had just been a heartbeat, Sansa was not sure. Her damp skin stuck to his, her breath still uneven, although not as much as his.

Jon tried to support his weight on his arms and get up, but he collapsed on top of her, shaking. Sansa yelped, crushed between him and the mattress. But then she decided that if she had to die like this it would not be so bad.

Except for the little one in her belly.

“Jon, dear…” she whispered against his ear, gently stroking his hair. “The baby.”

“Oh, gods!” he shouted, rolling to his side instantly. His eyes dropped to her stomach, his hands prodding her body for any sign of trouble. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, love! Is everything all right? Are you all right? I shouldn’t have…”

Sansa kissed him, as she had found out it was an effective way both to appease him and shut him up. She encircled his neck with her arms and threw a leg over his body, trying to regain as much contact as she could and keeping him still at the same time.

“I am pregnant, not ill, Jon,” she explained, stroking his beard.

He frowned, still not convinced, his hand poking her belly as if he waited for some sort of sign that everything was okay. Sansa stood up, her legs still shaking as she reached for the washcloth next to the tub to clean herself.

“Are you sure everything is all right? Perhaps we shouldn’t do this for a while,” She heard him say with a cracked voice behind her back. “It’s all my fault… I shouldn’t have…”

“Dear, I promise you that everything is fine,” Sansa said, propping one of her feet on the stool next to the fire and rubbing the cloth against her thigh. “I spoke to the maester and he promised me it would be fine.”

“You spoke to the maester about… About…” Jon stuttered, his voice a couple of pitches higher than usual.

“I did. I wouldn’t be parted from you for nine moons and it’s not like I can talk about it with my mother or something, can I?”

Her voice cracked.

In a heartbeat, Jon’s arms encircled her and he pulled her back to his chest, gently cradling her. She swallowed down her tears, for him.

For them.

The past was gone and nothing could be done about it. Now she wanted to be happy, and the best way of doing so was not thinking about things that still hurt her.

“It is all right, love,” he murmured against her hair, his hand falling to her still flat belly. “I’m sorry. I really am. For making you angry, and for making you sad.”

“It’s fine, Jon. Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’m fine,” she assured him, kissing his other hand.

“I… I have no one but you to speak about it and I can’t seem to figure out what’s the right thing to say,” he explained. “Sam is not here, and the gods know how much he could have helped me with that. He is so much clever than I am.”

“You are smart man too, Jon,” Sansa said. “I don’t know anyone else who could have planned how to take back all of this so well as you did.”

“But I am so afraid, Sansa!” he sighed, resting his head on her shoulder. “I had no mother to take care of me as a boy, and although father loved me the best he could I am not sure it gave me any example of how to raise a child.”

Sansa twisted herself in his arms and cupped his face. Her heart clenched, seeing the worried look on his face, the despair in his eyes. She seldom recalled what his childhood had been like. Although her lord father had tried to treat Jon as his own son, Lady Catelyn had not allowed him to ever feel truly loved by her husband. He had been alone for so long.

“And I was dead. Dead!” he continued, throwing his arms in the air. “How can a dead man father a child?”

“You looked alive enough to me just a couple of moments ago,” she disagreed, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. “You look alive enough to me just now.”

Jon let out a sigh again, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You are the best man in the world, Jon. You are so caring, so gentle to me, how could you fail a child?” Sansa asked him, stroking his face. He leaned into her touch, smiling weakly. “You yourself told me that Sam was a wonderful man although his father was terrible to him. Do you really think that someone as marvellous as you are could do a bad job?

He kissed her then, all the love he felt for her filling her heart with joy.

“Can we call him Robb, if it’s a boy?” he asked her, a wide smile on his lips now. “Although I am certain it will be a girl, with copper hair and blue eyes just as you. And freckles."

“I would like that, and I thought we already established it was a boy.”

“Frankly, I don’t care, as long as it looks like you,” Jon scoffed, scooping her in his arms and carrying her to bed again.

Sansa giggled, happy they had found some middle ground on that.

“Gods, now that I think about it I really love the freckles on your back,” he said, gently letting her go and laying down behind her. “I could count them forever.”

“Perhaps if you start now you could be finished by dawn,” she suggested, hiding her hands below the pillow, her eyelids too heavy now to keep them open.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am so so so so sorry for the hiatus, but I was out of the country until Wednesday and even then I was too busy jet-lagging and then my PC decided to loose part of what I had already written so the bottom line is I am sorry.  
> Hope you enjoy it anyway!

Sansa tried and failed miserably to reach her feet to tie her boots. She scoffed. She had become completely useless. And tired. She was so, so tired.

“Let me help you, m’lady,” Jocelyn offered, running to her and almost tripping on her own feet.

Sansa leaned back on the palms of her hands, her spine creaking as if a bone had finally found its proper place.

“I’m sure you won’t have to wait much longer, m’lady,” the girl said, kneeling in front of her.

Sansa was not so sure. Her belly was big enough to prevent her from doing almost anything. But when she counted the time after she noticed her moon blood was missing she had figured that her belly should be much smaller than it already was. Also, it was useless trying to determine when she was due by when she and Jon had slept together.

Well, she would accept it whenever the little one decided to come, since she had no other choice, but by all the gods that it would be soon now.

“I really hope you are right,” she answered, looking at the ceiling.

Jocelyn finished lacing Sansa’s boots and helped her get up. She and Alys were truly loyal to her, of that there was no doubt left. Sansa’s heart twisted a little, reminding herself of a time when they were too busy trying to keep her and Jon apart and Sansa had loathed, mocked and lied to both of them. She had discovered that they were just doing what they thought was best to keep the peace in the North, after so much blood had been shed. After all, their interests and Sansa’s were not that different, and Sansa was more than grateful for their council and their company when she needed some time away from all the men around her.

After everyone found out that an heir to Winterfell was growing inside Lady Stark’s belly, a baby twice a Stark- no matter how much its father had chosen to remain a Snow and remind everyone he was a bastard- whispers about a King in the North had grown louder and louder each day.

Sansa closed her fists, angry at the thought. She would not allow it. She would not allow anyone to push her unborn child in that direction. Her lord father never wanted it, and neither did her brother, but everyone around Robb, including her lady mother, seemed too keen on having a Stark king once again. And how had it ended? No, Sansa would hush every whisper, every shout, if needed be. Her child would be happy and would live in peace for as long as she drew breath. And she was sure Jon felt the same way.

But since then, since the rumours about rebellion had started, both Alys and Jocelyn hovered constantly around Sansa, as if they both thought they were protecting their own future. An heir to Winterfell meant that there would be another Stark in the castle for another generation. It meant peace and stability. And that was not compatible with the war some folks were starting to desire again.

“Ah, finally!” Jon shouted, getting up as soon as his wife entered his study.

“You can leave us now, Jocelyn,” Sansa said, crossing her arms and lifting her chin.

Jon waited for the door to close behind the girl. Then he circled his desk and brought Sansa to his arms, kissing her lips. She did not move.

“What is wrong?” he asked, frowning as he caressed her arms.

“Now I am too slow, am I?” she inquired, pursing her lips. “I am so heavy I cannot even lift my feet from the ground, I just drag them across the floor.”

“Please, love, don’t talk like that,” he scolded, kissing her brow. “You’re as lovely as ever, and I could not love you more.”

Sansa relaxed her shoulders and let him embrace her, as tears pooled on her eyes.

“I will pretend I believe it,” she sighed, hiding her face in his chest.

“You do not have to pretend, it’s true,” Jon assured her.

Sansa lifted her head and looked into his eyes. Jon looked as honest as ever, so she smiled, her heart glad that she had him to go through all of this.

“I am scared. I am so scared to lose you,” he added, his voice no louder than a whisper. “I don’t know what to do without you anymore.”

“It will be fine, dear,” she told him, not sure she believe it herself. “I am healthy, we have one of the best maesters in the kingdom, and we are home. Nothing will go wrong.”

Sansa grabbed his neck and pulled him to her, kissing him, this time with all the passion she had denied him earlier.

“But if it does, you keep going. You have to protect our home, no matter what happens,” Sansa added, aware that not talking about that possibility would not make it vanish.

Jon splayed a hand across her belly, his eyes sad now. The baby kicked vigorously, and Sansa yelped in surprise. It seemed enough to grab them from their dark thoughts, for Jon was unable to hold back is laughter, and then so was Sansa.

“Enough of this,” Jon cut, lacing his fingers in hers and leading her to the door. “After all, it is your name day and I have something I want to show you.”

No matter how many times she had asked him what it was, as they walked down the stairs, and crossed the courtyard until they reached the new glass gardens, almost finished by now, he never answered her.

Sansa was truly proud of them, a dozen of clear and shining pavilions, reflecting the winter sun like they were the crown jewels of the castle. She could see the small bushes growing inside them through the mist that fogged the windows, and she knew, deep inside her, that it would work and none of them would starve after all.

“Here it is,” Jon announced, pointing at a small tree right in the middle of the central pavilion.

It was shorter than her, with leaves wider than those of the pine trees and rounder than those of the oak trees. Of a brighter green too. And the last time she had seen one it seemed it had been on another life.

“You planted a lemon tree?” she asked, hesitant.

“Well, I did not. I just asked for it to be brought here, that was all,” he answered, shrugging.

Sansa encircled Jon’s waist with her arms and crushed him to her, her eyes filling with tears again.

“Why? People do not eat lemons, they are just used to make sweets! This is the most useless thing you could have planted here!” she noted, her voice sharper than she intended, the shock making her forget how to speak normally.

Jon rested his head on hers, drawing small circles with his fingers at the small of her back, trying to appease her.

“When I was a child I had everything I needed. I had clothes on my back, food on my plate, a roof over my head,” he explained, Sansa’s tears soaking his cloak. “But I was never happy. I had nothing to make me happy. And when the winter comes people will need something to make them happy too, not just some bland boiled cabbages over and over again.”

Sansa could not believe it. It made no sense at all.

And at the same time, it did.

“And this way, I think little after you bring that child into the world, you can eat all the lemoncakes you please,” he said, caressing her hair.

Sansa swallowed a sob. After everything the gods had put her trough, they had decided it was time for her to be happy, after all. Perhaps she had not lied to Jon when she promised him everything would go well. She stepped away from him, so she could lift her chin and really look at her husband.

“And now, Jon? Are you happy now?” she asked.

If he was not, she would make everything in her power to make sure he was.

For Jon certainly had done everything he could to make her feel like no woman in the world had ever been or could ever be as loved and cherished as she was.

“I am,” Jon said, his smile so wide that his eyes almost disappeared between the wrinkles in their corners. “I truly am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I am sorry if this chapter is not as good as everyone expected. And of course I am weak, as you already know, and there will be a part five with baby-Starks running all around the place, I guess, if that is something you might be interested in.  
> Anyway, thank you so much for being there! Love you all!


End file.
